


dinner with the gorn (bizarre love triangle)

by yaroantheo



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romantic Comedy, gorn eats raw eggs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25705351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaroantheo/pseuds/yaroantheo
Summary: “So,” Jim said. “What’s a Gorn like you doing in a place like this?”“Why, dating you, of course,” the Gorn replied.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Gorn, James T. Kirk/Spock, Spock/Gorn
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. volare, oh oh!

James T. Kirk, fearless, unflappable captain, the golden boy of Starfleet, the adventurous leader and explorer, had butterflies in his stomach. It had been so long since he’d experienced such a thing that he’d hardly recognized them for what they were, but as soon as he realized, he thought to himself, _huh, this is kind of….nice_. 

He got himself ready with the same careful excitement as a young Earth girl getting ready for her senior prom, though he would never admit it. He took a long shower, making sure he smelled perfect and was suitably clean. He made eye contact with himself in the mirror as he shaved, running the old-fashioned straight razor he so preferred over the newfangled space-age technology that just wasn’t the same. He followed up with his favorite aftershave, a classic scent that he knew drew in the ladies, gents, and everyone else alike. 

He deliberated for a long time in front of his wardrobe. Nothing seemed right, from the formal wear he’d amassed for various ceremonies and celebrations, to the more casual options. Finally, he settled for something in between, a green tunic that brought out the warmest tones in his eyes. Or so he’d been told. The butterflies were out in full force, threatening to overtake him as he waffled over the decision, so he shook his head as if to snap himself out of it and pulled on the tunic. He paired it with a pair of well-fitting black pants and a golden jacket. 

He surveyed himself in the mirror. It was ideal. Dignified, but approachable.

Perfect for a Starfleet captain on a first date. He gave himself one last onceover in the mirror and smoothed down a stubborn curl.

“You’ve got this,” he told himself, and with a curt nod to his reflection, he turned and left the room, making sure to slide his communicator into his pocket on the way out the door. 

He got into his aircar and fastened his seatbelt. The destination was an Italian restaurant tucked into a block of old restaurants in a stately old neighborhood. He’d chosen it because, while it wasn’t too intimidatingly fancy, it was nice enough to impress. A little candlelight, some red wine, a clean white tablecloth, a cozy atmosphere. He’d been there once before, with a group, and knew that he’d have to keep it up his sleeve for a first date.

“ _Peccati di Gola_ ,” he told the car’s computer, and it dutifully whirred to life, ferrying him up and over San Francisco bay, from his planetside billet to the restaurant he’d chosen. He parked it manually, squeezing it into a too-small parking spot between a couple of old-fashioned ground cars. 

“Hey, I’m walkin’ here,” shouted a pedestrian, ducking out of the way of the landing car. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Kirk mouthed at him, grimacing slightly as he shut down the vehicle. He stepped out into the temperate night, a cool breeze carrying the scent of the water through the air. He smoothed down the front of his shirt and walked towards the restaurant.

“Do you have-a ze reservation?” The maître d' was a wizened Italian man with only a few whisps of silvery white hair clinging to his liver-spotted head. He gazed at Kirk with stately blue eyes.

“Yes. Table for two, under Jim Kirk,” he told the maître d’. 

“Of course, sir. Right this way.” He led Jim through the low-lit space, between cozy, romantic tables where many a date was underway. Everyone here seemed moony eyed, wrapped up in blossoming love, and nearly ready to propose to whomever they were here with. Moonlight filtered in through the picture window in the front, but Jim lost sight of it as he was seated in a secluded corner, behind a trellis of climbing roses. Candles of all sizes lined a table for two, and flowers were gathered in several crystal jars, dewy in the low light. Jim was grateful for the discretion. After all, this city was Starfleet territory, and he was the closest thing to a celebrity the ‘fleet had. It simply wouldn’t do to be approached all night, or to inadvertently send the rumor mill churning and cause a muddle with the higher-ups.

He took the chair against the wall, so that he could tell when his date was approaching. He thanked the host with a nod, and sat down to look over the wine menu. But he was too nervous, and the words all ran together. A waiter with a towel over one arm in the old-fashioned way came and deposited a basket of bread on the table. Jim was seven minutes early. He kept his eye on the door, though he kept the wine menu in his hand so as to appear unassuming.

The butterflies were back. Jim tried hard not to talk himself down from the whole affair, but the doubt was difficult to assuage. After all, a starship captain. Was he made for love? _Do I even deserve it_ ? But this was different. _Gorn_ was different. 

They’d met at an intergalactic symposium where the Enterprise was stationed to provide a security detail to the frail old keynote speaker, whose status was of great importance to the Federation, and who’d survived many an assassination attempt throughout the years. Something to do with a civil war, and the moneyed dissidents displaced by years of strife, determined to sow unrest among their enemies. The speaker had been a staunch proponent of repatriation, and his enemies hadn’t liked that. Or something. The details were fuzzy, having been outlined quite a while back, and by one of Starfleet’s most monotonous and dry old admirals, at that.

And the memory was completely overshadowed by his encounter with Gorn. Their eyes had met across a crowded room, and though Kirk was not often given to clichéd metaphors except where he could employ them to faster spread a pair of galactic legs, he could have sworn that sparks flew. Gorn had approached him, introduced himself, and before Kirk had known it, a number was being slipped into his hand by a masculine, green, and scaly one. He’d whispered a farewell in Kirk’s ear, raising sensual goosebumps on the back of his neck, and was gone. 

“Have you made your selection?” The waiter had returned, and noticed that Jim had stopped poring over the wine list. 

“Oh, uh, bottle of your finest red for the table.”

“Our finest red, sir?”

“Yes, please,” Jim said. “Spare no expense.” He was growing more and more nervous by the second. He’d called Gorn nearly the second the Enterprise had touched down in the skies above San Francisco, and he’d agreed to go out to dinner with no hesitation, though they’d last met eleven months ago. 

Finally, the door opened, and the small bell above it chimed as it was displaced by the entrance of the most beautiful reptilian man Kirk had ever laid eyes on. He spoke in low tones to the maître d’, who nodded and led him back towards Jim’s table. Jim stood up, stomach twisting in nervous delight, and he took Gorn’s large hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a tender kiss.

“Gorn,” he breathed, his eyes softening with an intimate smile. “It’s such a pleasure to see you again. You look simply _enchanting_ ,” he said. Gorn was dressed in a sleek purple outfit that showed off his well-sculpted, toned masculine frame.

“You are looking yourself, Captain,” Gorn said, and Jim was charmed by the apparently dropped adjective. Was the man as nervous as he was? 

“Please, call me Jim tonight,” he urged as they settled into their seats. Gorn sat somewhat awkwardly, and Jim felt like he might swoon.

“So, _Jim_ ,” the Gorn said after a moment. He made a broad sweep of his head across the room, apparently unable to move his eyes side to side the way most humanoids could. His gaze settled on the bread basket, and he took a piece, bringing it to his mouth with both clawed hands. He chomped down on it, letting out a satisfied _mmmmmm_ when he’d finished. The waiter arrived with a bottle of cabernet sauvignon, and poured it in a couple of elegant wine glasses for the pair.

“So,” Jim said, after it became clear that his date was not going to finish his sentence. “What’s a Gorn like you doing in a place like this?”

“Why, dating you, of course,” the Gorn replied. He spied Jim’s hand where it rested, inert, on the tablecloth, and brough one of his own up to cover it. He ran a finger tenderly across Jim’s skin, sending the human man shivering in pleasure.

“I…. I don’t mean to be presumptuous,” Kirk said, taking a sip of wine, “but it feels like I’ve known you a lot longer than one night.” The wine was incredible, warm, full-bodied and faintly redolent of cocoa and some unnameable spice.

“Perhaps our souls simply connect on a level more timeless than our bodies,” said the Gorn.

“Oh, _Gorn_ ,” Jim said. He could tell that he was mooning over Gorn, could feel it in his own face, but he didn’t care.

“Gentlemen, have you decided on your meals?” The waiter was back. HIs eyes landed briefly on their clasped hands, but he was too tactful to say anything about it.

“I’ll have the veal parmesan,” Jim said, naming the first Italian dish that came to mind. The truth was that he hadn’t even looked at the food menu. He’d been too busy falling for Gorn.

“Have you….any eggs?” Gorn asked.

“Eggs, sir?”

“Eggs.”  
  


“I will….enquire in the kitchen, if you’ll excuse me for a moment. Gentlemen,” the waiter said, bowing slightly and taking his leave of their table. Jim smiled fondly at Gorn and squeezed his hand.

“Did you try the wine, yet?” Jim asked. “It’s simply divine.”

Gorn picked up the wine glass with his unoccupied hand and, tilting his head back, poured the entire glassful into his gaping maw. Jim chuckled, and took a more dignified sip.

“We have several Kyvarkian eggs in the back,” the waiter said upon his return. Jim had not even noticed him approaching the table, so lost he’d been in Gorn’s dashing dark eyes. He’d been busy imagining himself in those strong green arms. “But the chef regrets to inform you that they will take several hours to cook.”  
  


“Kyvarkian eggs,” said Gorn. “Raw, please,” he said.

“Raw!?” The waiter’s composure broke momentarily before he took a deep breath and remembered himself. “Very well, sir. Raw eggs it is.” There was only a hint of despair in his voice, and he made haste back into the kitchen.

The men got to know each other over the rest of the wine, and another bottle, zinfandel this time. Kirk’s whole body felt warm from the alcohol and the company. By the time the food came, he was certain he was in love.

* * *

They spent the remainder of the evening walking along the water, hand in hand, speaking of their dreams, their fears, and their lives, absorbing each detail the other shared with rapt attention and fast-beating hearts. Well, fast beating in Kirk’s case; for Gorn, a raised pulse would be indicative of severe overheating.

“Well, this is me,” Gorn said abruptly, gesturing with a broad sweep of his muscled lizard arm at a sweep of marsh grasses.

“Oh?” Kirk asked. He was disappointed that the night was to be over so soon. He looked into his date’s eyes. “May I…. Gorn, may I kiss you?”

“Yes, please, Captain,” Gorn said, and Jim leaned in.

The kiss took his breath away. His knees felt weak, and he swooned in Gorn’s arms as the lizard man wrapped them around the Captain’s torso. He never knew a kiss could make him feel so enraptured. Gorn leaned forward, dipping him like a maiden in an old-fashioned movie.

“Oh, _Gorn_ ,” Jim sighed when they finally came up for air. “I have had….the most enchanting evening.”

“Captain. It was good,” Gorn said, nodding. “I’d like it if….. I want you to call me by my name. A very intimate gesture in Gorn culture.”  
  


“I’d like that very much,” Jim said.

“My name is Rthxmstrontrrnghss Grnhathwngretha III,” said the Gorn.

“Rthxm Strontrrn Ghss,” Jim repeated slowly. “Well, Rthxmstrontrrnghss, if this must be farewell, then let it be said that I should hope to see you again very soon.”

“You may call me any hour,” replied the Gorn. 

“Goodnight, my sweet Gorn,” Jim said, leaning in for one last passionate kiss before turning to take his leave.


	2. shot right through with a bolt of blue (la douleur exquise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the thot pickens.

A chime rang through Jim’s quarters, alerting him to someone’s presence at the door. He was dressed only in a towel, so he replaced it with a plush terry cloth robe before he could consider himself decent enough to receive company.

“Come in,” he told the room, and the computer dutifully opened his door with a small _hiss_. 

“Captain.”

“Mr. Spock!” Jim smiled at his friend, his XO. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  
  


Spock glanced at the doors, waiting until they hissed shut to speak.

“I believe…. I am in need of some advice,” he said, and Jim knew his friend well enough to recognize the hesitation in his voice as Spock admitted it.

“Oh? Shore leave’s been over for all of what, ninety minutes? You work fast, Mr. Spock.”

“The issue is not based on the Enterprise,” Spock said. “May I?” he gestured at a chair.

“Please, be my guest,” Kirk said, nodding. 

Spock sunk into the chair. His features seemed to radiate uncertainty, though few would have been able to tell.

“Speak your mind, my friend,” Jim bade him, settling into the chair across from him. The lights were dim, as he had been getting ready for bed, and he was grateful, hoping the casual environment would put Spock at ease somewhat. If Spock was ever at ease, that is. “What is it?”

“Captain,” Spock began, but Jim cut him off.

“Jim, please,” he corrected. It sometimes felt tiresome, reminding people to use his given name in off duty situations. But he was a person beneath all the pomp and circumstance, and he liked to be addressed as such among his friends and compeers.

“Jim,” Spock conceded. “I was quite conflicted over whether or not to consult you. But as you have directly stated on several occasions your willingness to be sought out for such matters, I…. hoped you might be available to dispense of some personal advice.”

“Of course, Spock,” Jim assured him. He put a reassuring hand on Spock’s knee. He found that he was genuinely touched that the Vulcan had taken him up on his offer. He never thought he’d have seen the day. “Anything. I’m here to listen.” 

“It is a matter…. Of the heart,” Spock said, his tone of voice, facial expression, and body language indicating that it pained him greatly to discuss such a thing. Jim felt honored to be a Vulcan’s confidant. He knew it couldn’t be easy for his friend.

“Wow, Spock,” said Kirk. “Brave new worlds, indeed.” He’d been feeling amorous for the past week, buoyed by his encounters with the Gorn, and he was ready to spread the mood. He and Rthxmstrontrrnghss Grnhathwngretha III had been on two more dates, and on the third, the Gorn had shyly admitted him to his nest, where they’d made slow, passionate love under the Californian night, a vibrant backdrop of stars the audience to their sweet lovemaking. As he came for the fourth time, however, twin feelings of exhaustion and bittersweet melancholy had set in. Like him, Gorn’s only mistress was the stars, and they were fated only to part. Rthxmstrontrrnghss Grnhathwngretha III could never join Starfleet; he belonged to a race outside the Federation, and could never take his place in Jim’s quarters. And he could hardly wait in San Francisco for the few times a year at most Kirk was given leave planetside, like a sea wife of old, looking out at the open sky and awaiting his lost love. No, the man belonged to the sky as well, was made to explore it just as Jim was. They’d parted, teary-eyed and sorrowful, vowing to find each other again somewhere in the galaxy, and the passion had been putting Jim’s heart in a lovelorn mood ever since. It would be his honor to pay it forward, to imbue Spock with some of the feelings the universe had granted him. “Pray, tell me your conundrum, my friend, and I will try my best to guide your aching heart.”

“You honor me with your devotion, Captain— Jim,” Spock corrected. He sighed, and leaned back in his chair. “It is my wish, however, to be as discreet as possible, as is the Vulcan way. I shall apprise you only of enough information to receive the best advice, yet I’m afraid I must retain some vagaries to protect the hearts and minds of the parties involved.”

“Of course, Mr. Spock,” Jim said. “You’re nothing if not discreet.”

“Indeed.” Spock exhaled before continuing. “Lately I have found myself…. _yearning_ ,” he admitted, facial expression shifting to one of great pain, which on a Vulcan, looked only somewhat troubled. But Jim knew how to read his friend better than anyone else on the ship. In the entire quadrant, perhaps. 

“Yearning, Spock?”

“Yes. At first I was able to compartmentalize. But then, it became clear to me that to ignore such feelings would be to do a disservice to myself. To cause continued, undue harm, by suppressing them, by denying their existence, was illogical. Rather than pretend I was unaffected, I decided to address these feelings, so that I would be better prepared to deal with them and to move on.”

“Of course. It was only logical,” Jim agreed, smiling at his friend.

“I planned to confess these feelings to their catalyst, to their source,” Spock admitted. He looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap. He sighed a troubled sigh. “Were they to be requited, I would be pleased, but surprised. But I wanted to confess mainly so that I could be assured that my feelings were unreciprocated, and so I could begin the difficult emotional undertaking of moving on from them.”

“Oh, Spock,” Jim sighed.

“I planned to make use of the shore leave to confess my feelings, so that the other party would have some time away from the obligation of life aboard the Enterprise to come to terms with them. To reject me, without having to face me immediately if and when duty ordained our paths to cross once more.”  
  


“You wanted to give them time,” Jim said. “That’s a commendable course of action, Mr. Spock.”  
  


“Thank you, Captain,” Spock said, nodding. “However, when I located the object of my desire on our shore leave, I found that they were…. entangled…. with another,” he forced out. The very words seemed to pain him. Jim rubbed his thumb across Spock’s knee, heart broken for his friend. Spock swallowed, but did not shrug off the touch.

“I’m sorry, my dear fellow,” he said. “Unrequited love….what the French call _la douleur exquise_ ,” he mused.

“The exquisite pain,” Spock translated. “Indeed, that seems most apt a description.” He looked up, and Jim could see sorrow in those dark Vulcan eyes.

“So, you need advice?”

“Yes,” Spock said.

“Well, my friend,” Jim said. He sighed deeply, running a hand over his face. “I’m afraid that in these cases, between all the poets and broken hearts of a thousand worlds….the only balm that has been found to heal one’s soul from _la douleur exquise_ is time.”   
  


“Time,” Spock mused.

“Indeed,” Jim said. “Time is all you can give yourself. You must wait, and slowly, the pain will fade. You will find someone who can love you for you.”

“I understand,” Spock replied quietly. “Well, I should be going,” he said, standing up. Jim fought the urge to embrace him in a comforting hug, knowing the Vulcan would be uncomfortable with such a display. Oh, but it really did wound Kirk to see his dear friend in such a lovelorn state. He wished that Spock had availed him of the name of his desire. Would that he could track down the person, whoever it was, and give him or her a few rough shakes. To hurt a Vulcan! It was unspeakable.

“Well, you’re welcome to stay,” Jim offered. “Have a drink. Pine, the old fashioned human way.” He knew Spock was unlikely to take him up on it, but he would be remiss in not offering. 

“I really should be attending to my meditation,” said the first officer, forlornly. “Good night, Jim.”

“Good night, Spock,” Kirk replied, giving his friend one last comforting pat on the arm as he made his way into the hallway and disappeared into the night.

* * *

Jim sighed, looking around his quarters, feeling strangely empty without Spock there anymore. It was only twenty-one hundred hours, and he was energized from the shore leave. He wasn’t ready to be alone yet. He dressed in casual clothes, a regulation undertunic and a pair of slacks, and decided to pay Bones a visit down in his quarters. He nodded to each crewman he saw on the way, welcoming them back aboard. On the bridge, the gamma shift was ushering them towards their next stationing, the site of a border skirmish where the delegates now aboard were to mediate the conflict. Jim trusted Sulu at the helm, and knew the Enterprise was in good hands. 

“Who’s there,” Bones’s voice said over the com. 

“It’s me,” Jim said. 

“Alright, coming,” Bones said, and the door opened. “Jim. What can I do for you at this hour?”

“Nine PM?” Jim asked, raising an eyebrow. He took Dr. McCoy’s movement from out of the doorway as an invitation, and walked inside. “Got anything to drink?”

“Well, sure,” Bones said. “Captain’s right. Come and squeeze every last drop of contraband from his CMO, or else he’ll turn you in.”

“Something like that,” Jim conceded. “Well, do you have something, or not?”  
  


“Who would I be if I left a perfectly good shore leave go without making a few choice purchases?” Bones grumbled. He dropped to his knees with a grunt, and leaned under his bed, using his whole body’s strength to pull out from hiding an enormous black steamer trunk, presumably full of the good stuff. Jim’s eyes widened in a mixture of amusement and bemusement. “What’ll it be? I’ve got stuff here from every occupied star system in the quadrant,” Bones said proudly, pressing a few digits into an old-fashioned numerical lock: 8008.

“Well, you have quite the selection. Let me take a look.” He knelt down beside Bones to properly survey the collection. His friend had always favored hard liquors, they were more efficient, and there was far more alcohol per square inch that way. There were drinks in every color of the rainbow, and probably some beyond the visible light spectrum as well. Jim let out a low whistle at a little Saurian number the size of his first two fingers, and held it to the light to inspect it. “Gold flecks….” he mused.

“I’m saving _that_ for marriage,” Bones said, “thank you very much.” He gently eased the small bottle from Kirk’s hand. 

“What about this?” Jim’s eyes landed on something that was just perfect for his bittersweet mood tonight.

“Vodka brewed from Gornish tuber vegetables,” Bones said, nodding. “That’s strong stuff.”

“It’ll do perfectly, if you would be so kind as to spare some,” Jim said. He sighed, running a thumb over the angular alien calligraphy of the label. The glass was brownish-black, and fairly opaque, with a lid almost as large as the glass vessel it sealed. “In a purely medicinal capacity, of course.”

“Well, I swore an oath, after all,” Bones said. He got to his feet and walked to the inlaid sideboard, where his many and varied drinking glasses were stored. He chose a couple of small cut-glass snifters, and poured them each a few fluid ounces of tonight’s medicine.

“This is….strong stuff,” Jim said, trying not to grimace at the extraordinarily pungent flavor of the vodka after his first sip.

“Sure, sure. Fit for a reptile, after all,” Bones pointed out. “So, what ails ya, my friend?”  
  
Jim took another gulp of his drink, waiting for the warmth of the alcohol to wash over his body before he felt he could delve into the matter at hand. For all its awful taste, the stuff sure was strong, and he could feel his inhibitions ebbing away nicely with each passing moment.

“Well, Bones, it’s about Spock,” he said.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you— well, never mind. What’s on your mind?”

“There’s no dilemma or anything,” Jim said. “It’s just the most bizarre thing. Spock came to me earlier, to my quarters. He stuttered out, in his usual grandiloquent parlance, what was basically just a request for advice.”  
  


“Well, that makes sense,” Bones said. “He may be a computer of a man, but he sure trusts you.”  
  


“What doesn’t make sense,” Jim said, “is that he was asking for advice about….matters of the heart.”  
  


“Matters of the heart?” Leonard McCoy’s eyes went wide. “You don’t think….no….”

“Yes, Doctor,” Kirk said. “He came to me about love. Miserable, forlorn, unrequited love.”

“Love! What does that man know about love!” Bones cried, but there was more fondness in his tone than vitriol. He let out a bark of a laugh. “Unless….Why! That explains it all!”

“Explains what all?” Jim inquired, gripping the arm of his chair.

Bones laughed, and tossed back the rest of the Gornish vodka in his glass before pouring himself another finger or two. Our would it be claw? Jim didn’t know.

“Why, I beamed down with him, when we got to San Francisco,” Bones began. There was a twinkle in his eye that only appeared when he was launching into a juicy story, and Jim leaned forward, rapt. “He was being real squirrely. Even more so than usual. All my questions, met with shifty little monosyllables. I just had to know what he was up to.”

_To spare yourself the pain of another lonely leave_ , Jim thought to himself, a curl of pathos twisting in his chest. They were all so codependent aboard the _Enterprise_ , and he knew that for some of the more acerbic among their number….well, not everyone had someone warming a bed back home. Spock was more of a wife to Bones than anyone else in the doctor’s life. As was Jim. As was Spock to Jim, and Jim to Spock…. The emotional calculus made his head spin, and he let the train of thought derail.

“You followed him?” Kirk guessed, raising an eyebrow.

“I followed him,” McCoy confirmed. “Call it reconnaissance, call it due diligence, call it the curiosity of a man of science,” he said. “But I just had to know.”

“And? What did you see?”

“Well, I was only expecting to tail him for a half hour or so, and see that he just locked himself in his billet for a hearty meditation session. But no, Jim, I followed him down alleys and thoroughfares, through the most romantic quarters of the city. He was dashing about, muttering to himself that the time had come, that he had to confess, in the name of truth and honor! It just about blew my mind. He was so wrapped up in his little soliloquy that he never noticed I was there. Finally, he seemed to arrive at wherever it was he was headed, and he stopped in front of a window. Jim, when I tell you his whole body deflated…. It was like watching a boy lose his hound right in front of his very eyes. A pitiful sight. I almost felt _bad_ for the damn hellion.”

Bones sighed, and leaned back in his chair. “Jim,” he said after a moment’s pause. “I think I know with whom our stoic comrade is in love.”

“Who, tell me!” Jim demanded. His snifter fell to the carpet, his grip on the armchair white-knuckled.

“Well, he stood around for awhile, pining and gazing, and then he steeled himself and vanished into the night. I just had to get a look at whatever it was he saw, so I walked up to the window. It was a restaurant, but there was nobody there I recognized…. Or so I thought. I’d just about given up looking when I saw, there in the back of the dining room….”

“Who? Who?”

“ _The Gorn Captain!_ ” Bones cried, nearly vaulting out of his chair with the force of it.

“ _NO!_ ” Jim gasped, incredulously. “Are you certain?”

“It was him, clear as day,” the doctor responded. “In the very back. I couldn’t tell who he was sitting with, they were hidden behind a partition, but the whole set-up was very romantic. Why, everyone in there seemed to be on a date.”

_Spock…… He’s fallen for Gorn_ …….

Kirk sunk into the armchair, numb in disbelief. Finally, his friend had found someone, and it was the same person he himself had been wooing. It was too terrible, too ironic to be believed. Of all the people in the universe, and they’d chosen the same person. The blood rushed in his ears, and he barely registered McCoy’s ramblings about a rocky landscape, a deathly fight. It didn’t make sense, anyway.

_Oh, Spock…._

_Well, it’s no matter_ , Jim said. _I know what I must do. Yes, though it pains me…._

Spock was so gentle, so sparing with his heart, that if he was feeling strongly enough to declare his feelings, that he couldn’t hide them anymore, logic and deep-seeded Vulcan propriety be damned….

And he, himself, he’d had _so many_ people, intergalactic playboy as he was. He had to do the right thing. Though the prospect broke his heart, he knew that he would have a far better chance of moving on, of finding someone else, than Spock ever could. 

He had known, at their parting, that he and Rthxmstrontrrnghss Grnhathwngretha III would meet again. Though they might never share their lives as other lovers did, he could feel in his very soul that they would share some manner of relationship, whenever time and space allowed, to come together in a series of too-brief, yet achingly passionate encounters. 

But no longer.

He would have to step back, for the sake of his beloved friend. For Spock’s happiness was much harder to arrange than his own. Jim could deal with the sweet sorrow of heartbreak, for the altruistic silver lining found therein. And furthermore, Spock was no Captain. If he chose, he could resign his commission, could leave, could chase that happiness, in a way Kirk never could. It would give Rthxmstrontrrnghss a chance to be happy as well. Jim had to stand down, for both their sakes. He’d been scheming a way to arrange a rendezvous with the Gorn ever since their romantic evenings, and he still would, only now, the stakes were different.

He had to set up his lover and his best friend. 

He had to let Spock have Gorn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am i writing this only because i got 55k words into my k/s dark academia boarding school au only to start hating it so much i can't think straight anymore? yes.


End file.
